


Snow Melts Into Sea

by hcrlaws



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, Eventual theonsa, F/M, Family Feels, Minor Character Death, Sibling Love, Slow Burn, alannys is a protective mama, balon smells and everyone knows it, season 6 based, soft theonsa bonding over mermaids, the harlaws are badass, yara is sassy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-07-30 15:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20099521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hcrlaws/pseuds/hcrlaws
Summary: Ramsay’s letter had sent a chill across Castle Black and right down Sansa Stark’s spine. The name Reek stood out on the page like it was taunting her.Jon prepares for the war, and Sansa prepares more behind him. Including, asking a certain Ironborn family for some help.





	1. CHAPTER 1

A snowflake falls against her cheek and melts slowly as Jon swings his sword around and meets it with the younger boys, instantly causing the boy to drop his sword and cry out, holding his hand. The now melted snowflake causes a drop of water to trail down her face like a tear, and for a second— Sansa debates if perhaps it really is a tear.

A tear of fear. As she watches Jon preparing these young men for the battle ahead. A battle they are clearly not prepared for. Not ready to die for. 

Sansa stood on the battlements, staring down at the scene below her. Her stomach swirled, full of anxiety as she watched young men fall, their swords slip from their hands, not being able to hold it correctly, and the list continued. 

The sounds of laughter was below her. A mixture of laughter from the Wildlings and from the men of the Night's Watch, only causing Sansa to want to scream out in anger on how it was not a laughing matter. It was not a game. They didn’t have time for this silliness when Ramsay Bolton breathed down their necks. 

She wanted nothing more than for Ramsay Bolton to meet his fatal end. She prayed for a raven coming to the castle to alert them that there was no need for a battle— that Ramsay was gone.

That letter never came, but another did.

They sat around the table, Brienne sitting to her right and Jon across the table, shoveling whatever food he could get his hands onto down his throat in the most messy and noisy fashion. 

Young Sansa— the Sansa she was before Kings Landing, before Joffrey, before Petyr and before Ramsay, would have commented on his manors, how he was behaving exactly how the low folk do. 

But this Sansa— the one she was after all of those monsters tore her piece by piece until nothing but the shell of the wolf stood, would not. She had a piece of meat stabbed into her knife, twirling it around as she looked at it. 

She did not comment. She did not speak. She simply sat there, staring at the piece of meat as Brienne sat awkwardly at her side, the wildling Tormund staring straight at her. 

“Sorry about the food. It’s not what we’re known for.” Eddison, or Edd for short, broke her from her thoughts. He didn’t sound embarrassed, more trying to break the silence of the room. 

“It’s alright.” Sansa forces a smile, picking at her meat with her knife. “There are more important things.” 

Her eyes lift to meet his across the table, offering a less forced, and more kind smile. Before their eating could continue, a man entered the room, stalking straight over to where Jon was currently licking his fingers clean. 

“A letter for you, Lord Commander.” He holds the letter tightly. The room seemed to be on edge, all be suddenly tense. 

“I’m not Lord Commander anymore.” Jon’s gruff voice stated, and Sansa had to resist from commenting on how it wasn’t the focus of the moment. But Jon takes the letter, giving the man a nod of leave before turning his body towards the table again.

He seemed to shift the letter in his hands, eyes fixed on the wax that held it sealed, or more so, the Bolton cross that was stamped into it. 

The air left Sansa, hands dropping onto her lap and to hold the material of her dress like a lifeline. Brienne— noticing her complete uncomfort and fear, reached down to take her hand into hers, holding it tightly, and giving Sansa a nod.  _ I am here. _

Jon glanced towards her as he took the seal off, unrolling the letter before beginning to read what was written on the inside.

“To the traitor and bastard, Jon Snow.” 

_ Very Ramsay.  _ Sansa instantly noted in her mind. Of course Ramsay could not start out a letter without making comment. He had to be stewing at the fact Sansa had ran away— and succeeded. 

“You allowed thousands of Wildlings past the wall. You betrayed your own kind, you’ve betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine, bastard. Come and see.” Jon shifts in his seat, itching to instantly spring into some sort of action. But he continued to read.

“Your brother, Rickon, is in my dungeon…” Sansa stared at him, lips parted as she tightened her grip on Brienne’s hand. She had not had the time to explain to Jon, to mention Theon’s part in the story. He stared back at her, the same face of shock. She wondered if he could read her eyes? Read that she already knew Rickon was alive and never bothered to mention it. 

His eyes just went back to the letter. 

“His direwolf’s skin is on my floor. Come and see… I want my bride back. And my precious Reek too.” 

She couldn’t stop the gasp that came from her, quickly snapping her lips shut. Jon had not commented on that, only continuing to read the letter. “Send them to me, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your Wildling lovers. Keep them from me, and I will ride North and slaughter every Wildling man, woman and babe living under your protection. You will watch as I skin them living, you wi-“ 

Jon’s mouth slams shut, eyes piercing at the words that are written on the paper. His grip tightening, nails almost ripping right through. 

“Go on.” Sansa’s voice speaks up before she can stop herself, knowing there had to be more. More about her. About  _ Reek. _

“It’s just more of the same-“ She cuts him off, reaching over and taking the letter clean from the table in front of him and over to her. Jon’s look was full of sympathy, eyes softer than she had ever seen on him before.

“You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister. You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother. Then I will spoon your eyes from your sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see. Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell. Warden of the North.” 

Rolling up the letter, she hands it back over in Jon’s direction, the sick feeling rising in her stomach but she does not let it show. 

“Lord of Winterfell… Warden of the North.” Jon’s voice was cold, the soft look in his eyes gone. He was back to the stone expression and walls built up around him like the wall was built up around the North. 

“His father’s dead. Ramsay killed him. And now he has Rickon.” 

“We don’t know that-“ “Yes we do.” 

“How many men does he have in his army?” Tormund was the one to break the stare between her and Jon. Sansa’s lips pursed, eyes slightly going to the roof as she thought before answering. 

“I heard him say 5,000 once when he was talking about Stannis’s attack.” Jon didn’t seem to like the answer, spinning to turn to Tormund. 

“How many do you have?” 

“That can march and fight? I’d say… 2,000.” 

Jon seemed to sit in thought for a moment, almost looking defeated already. Sansa couldn’t watch it. Not on Jon. Not on the best swordsman she knew. 

“You’re the son of the last true Warden of the North. Northern families are loyal, they’ll fight for you if you ask.” Her voice almost pleaded him. She could not sit back and allow Ramsay to take her home— to take her brother. Her baby brother. 

Her hand goes across the tables between the cups of ale, taking Jon’s hand into her free one. “A monster has taken our home and our brother. We have to go back to Winterfell and save them both.” 

For a moment, Jon was silent, just looking at her. Everyone else’s eyes were locked onto them, watching them and waiting for Jon’s answer. For a moment, Sansa thought he was going to give up. To wave his white flag of surrender already and allow their brother and home to stay with Ramsay. But he nodded his head, but his mind was going at a hundred miles per hour, trying to work out what to do. 

Standing on the battlements now, she stared down at the scene below her and watched as Jon disarmed another boy of his sword. A sigh came from her, eyes closing as she tried to keep herself calm, keep herself from crying at the sight.

When she opened her eyes, Jon was looking up towards her, head tilted to the side and eyebrow raised. He didn’t need to ask her if she was okay, it was all through his expression. 

Giving a little shake of her head, Sansa turns and walks back into the castle walls, tightening her furs around her as the bottom of her dress got wet from the snow underneath her feet.

The cloak is stripped from her as she enters her chambers for the moment, a scowl making it’s way onto her face as she looks around the cold and dark room. 

It wasn’t home. It wasn’t Winterfell. She had shared a room with Arya and at the time, hated it. She would do anything to go back and share a room with Arya once again. 

A knock comes to the door, and she sucks a deep breath in, fingers coming up to her face and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Enter.” 

Jon pokes his head around the door, face all sweaty and hair tied back. He didn’t offer a smile, telling by the pacing and the pinching of her nose that she was not in the mood for his attempted comforting.

“What’s the matter?” 

Spinning on her heels, her eyes were murderous, open wide and nostrils flaring with anger as she throws her hands up, gesturing around the room. “This! This is the matter! I hate this place. I hate these walls! I hate that the window doesn’t close. I hate that I can hear Tormund snoring through the walls. I hate that my fire hardly lights!” 

He was taken off guard, blinking with surprise at her sudden outburst. His hands reach out, trying to pull her into his arms for an embrace, but Sansa denies and turns to look out the broken window, arms crossing over her chest. 

Her lower lip trembles, eyes filling with tears. “I want to go home.” 

“I will get you home, Sansa. I promise you.” 

“With those boys out there? Dropping their swords the moment a man comes near them? Too scared of a little cut on the hand? How is boys like that going to win back our home? Win back our brother’s life?” Voice stern, she turns to him once again, gesturing her hands out as if to tell him to answer her. He opens and closes his mouth, attempting to come up with that answer, before just closing his mouth.

“Ramsay has 5,000 men, perhaps more, trained for years and skilled in battle and we have boys! Little boys! Those boys are terrified of what they are about to see, Jon. Some of them are ages with Bran!” She huffs, flopping down onto her bed as she holds her head into her hands, hair falling around her.

“We have no other options… Most Northern families refused to fight with us. I don’t know what else you want from me, Sansa. I am trying.” He stands before her, sinking down onto his knees in front of her. His hands take hers from her face, holding them in his hands.

“I told you… I could have asked Cousin Robin.” 

“You mean Littlefinger? Absolutely not. That man sold you to that monster! He gave you up like— a piece of meat. He gave that cunt our home.” Jon’s rage was true, his hand gripping onto hers. But Sansa knew that anger was not directed towards her. 

She doesn’t bother to mention the letter that she had already sent to Petyr and Robin asking for their help. She knew, it would only cause Jon to think she had conspired against him. Which wasn’t true. She would only send in the Knights of the Vale if they needed.

She hoped and prayed they did not.

“I want to go home, Jon… Our men isn’t enough. We are too weak, we need more time.” 

She reaches her hands for him as he stands, turning away from her as he lets out a frustrated groan. Sniffling, Sansa stood and rubbed her hands against her dress, holding them in front of her as she watched her half brother pace the length of the room. 

Was he trying to think of more allies to ask? Thinking of giving up? Thinking of riding to Winterfell on his own? 

She was not expecting the words that left his mouth.

“Who’s Reek?” 

She stutters, stumbling over her words. Now she was the one blinking in surprise and gaping like a fish since she was lost for words.

“I— I’m sorry?” 

“Who is Reek? Ramsay mentioned a Reek in his letter. He referred to this… Reek as ‘precious’ and his. Who is it?” His voice was more demanding now, stalking towards her as she backs up a little, still gaping and trying to find the words and breathe. “I saw the look in your eye when he mentioned this— said Reek. You know who it is, and you aren’t telling me. Why, Sansa?” 

She hadn’t told him anything of Theon’s involvement. As far as Jon believed, Brienne and Podrick were the ones who got her out of Winterfell and away from Ramsay. Jon still had a deep hatred for Theon, she felt it in her bones. He would never understand. Never forgive Theon like she had because he hadn’t seen what Ramsay had turned him into.

Her silence had annoyed Jon, causing him to grow closer to her, till she was sat on the edge of the bed again and he was towering over her. 

“Who is Reek, Sansa? Tell me!” 

“Theon! The— Theon is Reek.” 


	2. CHAPTER 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Jon cannot seem to meet on the same level when it comes to the upcoming battle against Ramsay. And Sansa seeks help from an enemy, and a new friend.

The silence in the room was deafening. She had never heard Jon so silent. Even if his face was silent. Unreadable. She couldn’t tell if he was angry, or if he was disappointed. 

Theon Greyjoy was not a name that Jon had ever liked. It always caused a twist in his mouth, displeasure and a sneer to come from him. He had felt the boy was too confident, too full of himself. 

Theon had never liked the name Jon Snow either. They had both battled constantly for the attention of Robb. They could never find a moral ground. Could never accept that Robb could like and want to spend time with both of them. It was Theon or Jon to them. 

“Theon… Theon Greyjoy…” His voice was surprisingly soft spoken. Sansa couldn’t tell if it was because he was processing the information, or if he was feeling slightly nostalgic over the name from his younger days. From his good days before all the war and rains of death were casted across their family.

“Yes Theon. He was with me when I spent the months with Ramsay. He had been there for a year? Perhaps two?” Her hands clasped in her lap, growing clammy from how still and silent the room was. You could hear a pin drop from the hallways. A spoon dropping all the way in the Great Hall. 

“I hope he looked like shit.” 

Jon’s voice was full of anger, full of hatred for the older boy. It answered her earlier question on how he was feeling about the mention of Theon. Sansa could not blame him for hating Theon. She had held the same anger towards him just a month ago. She had wanted to do to him what Ramsay did to him, but that was before she knew the full picture of it, and she was sure she still didn’t know every detail. Nor did she want to. 

“You don’t know, Jon. What Ramsay did to him…” Her voice trailed off, tears almost threatening to fill with tears as the image of Theon’s broken, stiff body flashed into her mind. She had never seen underneath the rags that hung off of his skin and bones, never really seen any skin of him other than on his face and neck. What an opposite it had been to the young boy who used to walk around the training yard without his tunic on, bare chest covered in sweat and slight scattering of hairs that were dirty blonde, just like the hair on his head.

“I know whatever that bastard did to him, he deserved every bit of it for what he did to Robb. To this family. He dishonoured father’s name! He killed Bran and Rickon-”

“Bran and Rickon are alive! You read Ramsay’s letter! He said he had Rickon!” She could not stop the slight raising of her voice. Never in her life had she imagined that she would ever defend Theon Greyjoy. He had always been a rather annoyance growing up. Always getting into trouble, mocking her for the songs and poems that she enjoyed and talking crudely about the women he had bedded at feasts, right in front of children.

Even she had to admit that he was not that boy anymore. She would say he was a man, but was he even that? Or just a broken shell of one?

“We don’t know if Ramsay is telling the truth about Rickon being there.” Jon shakes his head, and only now did Sansa realise that he was pacing back and forth across the stone, fists clenched at his sides. 

“Theon told me that they are alive! That it was just two farmers boys and that Bran and Rickon had escaped from him.” Her voice was not raised, but strong and firm. Her back straightened as she stood, almost facing off to Jon. 

“And you believed him?” 

The question caught her off guard, causing a gasp to leave her slightly parted lips. Jon’s eyes were focused on her, almost burning into her soul and trying to read her mind before she had the chance to tell her what she was thinking. His arms were now crossed over his broad chest, jaw clenched.

Did she believe what Theon had told her? Was it possible that he had lied to her? Lied just so she would loosen up on him and no longer glower at him from across the room when he entered her chambers to give her meals or bathe her at Ramsay’s demand?    


“Yes.” Her mind was made up. “I believed him because I knew he was telling the truth. There was… just the way he said it. So desperate for me to listen and to believe. He looked almost sick after he had told me, like I was never supposed to hear it come from his lips.” 

Again the silence came. Neither of them knowing what to say next. She tried to reach her hand out for him, to get some sort of comfort from her older brother and perhaps bring some to him, but Jon had just stepped back from her touch and scoffed.

“You always have been such naive fool when it came to boys with pretty eyes, Sansa.” 

And with that, he turned and left her bed chambers, leaving a certain coldness behind him and disappearing into the dark lit hallways of Castle Black. 

Sansa stood in silence, furs wrapped around her neck to keep her warm while Jon explained battle plans with Davos and Tormund. They had a map of the North laid out in front of them, checkers set where the two armies would be placed. Sansa paid close attention, eyes slightly narrowed as she stared between the men around the table from where she stood a few steps backwards. 

“If the other houses sense weakness on his part… they’ll stop fearing him.” Davos’ voice was the first that she had really registered to, her eyes drifting downwards towards the map to see the checkers. A lot more on Bolton’s side, and that brought great fear. It was clear that Ramsay had the upper hand in all of this. He had more men, more men that had been trained for years and Jon had… wildlings and boys. Boys who could barely hold a sword, barely out of their mothers arms. It made her feel sick to think about. 

Squinting as she looks at Jon, Sansa joins the conversation once again, never commenting, but listening. Tormund was worried, and so he should be. To Sansa, he was being the only logical and realistic one. He was worried about the number of men that Ramsay had advantage of. Of his horses that could cut through them like nothing. She wished Jon would listen, but he was currently sat back on a chair drinking a mug of ale like there wasn’t a battle looming over them just in a weeks time. 

She had barely noticed that the other men had left the room.

“You’ve met the enemy once. One time and you believe you can outsmart him and bring him to you? That someone like Ramsay Bolton will face you off man to man and not bring down every single man— boy, that you have? Who’s the naive one now, Jon?” 

Walking around the table to stand opposite from where he sat, her eyes narrow in on the map and battle plan again. Sansa tried to appear strong. She knew she was strong, but by the Gods, new and old, she was breaking at the thought of Jon going out there with this plan. 

“You think he’s going to fall into your traps and he wont. Ramsay is the one who lays the traps. He’s been doing so for years, tortured people-”

“People? Or Theon?” Jon cuts off, standing from his chair and looming over the table, eyes set dead on her. The mention brings her to a halt, her eyes hardening as she just gives him a look. A look telling him to listen, and stop the the japes about Theon. 

“He’s been playing with people his whole life. No, not just Theon, but others as well. He killed his own brother, Jon! He goes out hunting, but not like you and Robb used to, he hunts people! Sends servants out there, luring in on them with a bow and arrow. If he’s feeling kind, he’ll put them out quickly, with those arrows.” Rambling on, her hands twist in front of her, visibly shaking from fear and the cold chill that was sent around the room.

“And if he is not feeling kind?”

Sansa looks at him, voice softening and trembling. Just the thought of Ramsay’s dogs brought a horrible taste to her mouth and sent her feet wanting to run as fast as she could. But no one could outrun his girls. “He has his dogs eat them alive.”

The air that leaves Jon sounds like a laugh, but a nervous one. He had no idea what kind of man Ramsay was, how his mind worked and how the games he liked to play worked. The game that he was clearly playing with Jon. 

“Tell me how to get Rickon back.” His voice sounded desperate, for someone who hadn’t believed Rickon was alive just days past. But that was before they had met with Ramsay. Before Ramsay had thrown the head of Shaggydog right at their feet and confirmed their worst fear. He had Rickon, and Rickon was not making it out alive. 

“We won’t get Rickon back. Ramsay will never allow it unless we are getting him back in pieces… Perhaps if you had asked for my council or waited until we had a bigger army, we would have a chance, even a slightly larger chance of winning.” 

Jon gapes at her, mouth opening and closing as he tries to think of what to say to the jab she had just sent his way. He knew it was true. She could see it in his eyes. Perhaps he should have pushed a little harder with the houses that swore themselves to house Stark and were now letting house Stark down, just out of fear of Ramsay. These houses went to wars with her father— Roberts and Balon’s. Now they turn and run in fear. 

“We’re lucky to have the amount of men that we have.” Jon’s voice came out strong, bold. Like he was trying to convince her of his views. But Sansa believed he was more trying to make himself believe. Of course they were lucky to have the men that they did, but it was not enough. It would never be enough.

“We’ll be slaughtered on the open field with that many men. Just promise me Jon… don’t get reckless and stupid. No matter what Ramsay does, do not give into his games. Do not be the one to make the first move.” Her hands search out his, taking them into hers. Jon brings their clasped hands up, pressing a kiss to each set of her knuckles.

“I promise, dear sister.” 

The moment of meeting with Baelish had finally passed. Sansa felt herself releasing the breath that she wasn’t aware she had been holding till now. Her stomach was flipping up and down. With nerves of the upcoming battle? Or from standing in front of the man that manipulated her from day one of sitting in King's Landing, mentioned how he could have very well been her father before pressing a kiss against her soft lips? Perhaps both. 

She walked with a straight posture, Brienne walking slightly behind her. Brienne’s grip never strayed once from her sword at her hip. Sansa was sure that her grip even tightened and was ready to draw it out and fight as they stood in the presence of Petyr. She wanted to tell Brienne that there was no worry, that Baelish would never harm her, but the man had given her away to the Bolton’s. To the family that had slaughtered her mother and brother and the man that tortured her for months of another marriage. She no longer could claim that Petyr Baelish would bring her no harm, when he possibly brought her the most harm of all. 

“Lady Sansa… Permission to speak freely?” Brienne speaks up, the pace of her walk picking up as she catches up to her side. She glanced at Sansa like she may bite, which only caused the young wolf to smile up at the woman, giving a nod of her head.

“Of course, Brienne. You are always free to share your thoughts with me. I trust you, more than anyone really.” 

Brienne seemed touched by her words, the same smile that was on her face that day that Sansa had accepted her in the woods had appeared across her face once again, eyes softening and cheeks deepening to a red colour. “I don’t trust that man. Lord Baelish. Why did you have to ask him for help? Why not someone else?” 

Pulling to a stop, Sansa turns her body to her fully, her hands crossed in front of her. Her head had to slightly tilt to look up at Brienne, but she felt no intimidation with her like she felt with others. Brienne could always be trusted with her secrets and with her life. Brienne was a true person who would bring her no harm.

“I don’t trust Petyr much either, but he is guardian to the current Lord of the Vale, my cousin, Robin. He holds the Knights of the Vale in his control and if Jon wants hope of winning the battle, if I want hope of Jon making it back alive, I need that army. Unfortunately for us, we need Lord Baelish to get that army. He’s a good person to keep close… but not for too long.”

Although Brienne would prefer to avoid Lord Baelish at all costs, not trusting the older man who gave admiring looks towards Lady Sansa, and not the type of admiring looks that an older man should be giving a young woman of Sansa’s age, she seemed pleased with Sansa’s answer. She would happily get rid of the man herself if Sansa demanded so, and she knew this. Sansa would be sure to deal with Petyr when the right moment came along, but for now, she would keep him close and use him for the army he could provide to her and Jon’s aid. 

“He isn’t the only friend I plan on asking for help. I have friends across the sea. I’m sure that they would be delighted in helping to take down Ramsay Bolton for all the pain he’s brought.”

Their walk back towards where they had left their horses began again, less urgent this time. Once again, Sansa could tell that Brienne was itching to comment. This time she didn’t ask for permission, knowing she was allowed to speak freely anyway. 

“And by friend across the sea you mean Theon Greyjoy, is that right, my lady?” Brienne reached their horses first, untying them from the tree and making sure to prepare Sansa’s horse first, though Sansa was about to insist that she did not need to. Sansa instead stands to the side, nodding her head.

“Yes. Well, more Yara Greyjoy than Theon himself. Yara had met with Ramsay before I was there from what I’ve overheard, and I’m sure she would love to join in with taking him down. For Theon.” 

Brienne turns, offering a smile to Sansa as she holds her horse in place, even offering to help her up onto the horses back, which the redhead accepts with a grateful nod. Once seated and secure, Brienne moves to her own horse, spending no time at all preparing for it and getting on. 

“I’m sure Lady Yara would be happy to fight in your honour as well. You’re a very likeable person, Lady Sansa. She would be stupid to not like you and fight for you as well.” 

The comment was something that struck Sansa pretty hard. She had always been told by family and by her Septa how easy it was for one to become her friend, how polite and likeable she was, but it was the first she had heard someone say it like that in a very long time. It meant a lot, especially coming from Brienne. 

Later that night, Sansa sat in her chambers. She had struggled to get her gown off, the laces at the back being a bother without a handmaiden there to help. It only made her miss Shae more. Though the woman had filled with jealousy at Sansa being married to Tyrion, Shae had always been a friend, and a dear one at that. Sansa could trust her with her life, and she knew that Shae would have fought for her, perhaps even killed for her. 

She hoped and prayed to whatever Gods were still accepting and listening to her that no harm would come to Shae. She had always been someone that Sansa liked.

She sat at the desk, pressed up against the wall underneath the window. A quill was in her hand, dipping it into the ink as she moves her hand with elegance, writing across the paper. She had never spoken with Yara, never even met the woman face to face, but she wrote to her like they had been acquaintances for years. 

Her long copper hair fell down her back freely, slightly falling into her eyes, a hand brushing it away but never disturbing the letter that was currently being written. She spoke of the letter that Ramsay had sent to Jon, of the mention of Rickon and the  _ evidence _ that Ramsay had rolled at their feet that the youngest Stark was in fact in his possession. 

Lastly she spoke of Theon, and how Ramsay had also named him, but not quite with the name Theon. She told Yara of  _ Reek _ , wondering if Theon had even bothered to tell her, or if she knew at all. If she didn’t, she did now. And Sansa would not apologise as Yara deserved to know the true tortures that Theon dealt with for years, that she knew he would never mention or show to her. Even if they shared the same blood.

She read over her letter once more, eyes glancing over her asking for her help, asking for her armies or fleet, whatever it was that the Iron Islands liked to call their warriors. 

And as she signed the bottom, a small smile tugged on her lips, curling upwards and causing a jump in her heart. They may actually have a chance of defeating Ramsay.

_ Your new friend,  _

_ Sansa Stark.  _

_ The Red Wolf.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this taking so long! I hit a total writers block just at the beginning of writing this chapter, but I’m officially happy with how it turned out. It’s slightly longer than the first chapter, but I like that. There was more to say and tell.
> 
> All feedback is welcome! It really helps me out when writing in the future and continuing this fic. Hope you’re all enjoying so far. Next chapter, we’ll be with Theon.


	3. CHAPTER 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The raven from Sansa has arrived to the Iron Islands, and Yara is prepared to fight. But her father refuses to fight for the wolves. 
> 
> Yara stands up to Balon— she will not settle for Ramsay Bolton living. And Theon very much misses a certain Northern Princess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is of course, centred around Theon and the other ironborn people. 
> 
> I tried to add in more characters from the books, as the show cut 90% of the Iron Islands and it’s people out. A lot of mentions of Alannys, but what’s new. 
> 
> I may have gone a bit over the top when dragging Balon through the dirt, but I couldn’t resist.

The waves lapped around his legs, his breeches pulled up to his knees as he enjoys the feeling of the salt between his toes. His eyes were closed, breathing in the salty air that was mixed with the right amount of fish that wasn’t overpowering. Or it was, just Theon was ironborn, and he was used to it. 

He had spent a lot of his days at the beach since returning home— if he could truly call it that. He hadn’t gotten the warmest welcome from Balon, but there was no surprise there since the first time he had arrived back to the Iron Islands. Pyke didn’t feel like home. It felt unsafe, surrounded by people he didn’t trust and who didn’t trust him, including his own father, but Yara did feel like home. 

If he was being honest, the real reason that he was being so brooding, so introverted and keeping his distance away from everyone else, was because he missed Sansa. 

It had been a few weeks now since they had parted. Since he had taken one of the horses that Brienne and Podrick had brought with them, some bread and cheese, even some water because Sansa demanded that he needed to make sure he was hydrated and fed for his journey home. Home. Pyke wasn’t home, even the Iron Islands weren’t home. Home to him was the feeling of a certain redheads arms wrapped around him, face buried into her neck and breathing in her smell. It was all so comforting to him. Exactly how a home was meant to be. 

“Are you going to spend the rest of your years brooding in the sea like Aeron? I’m waiting for you to start preaching about the Drowned God and talking into seashells.” 

Yara’s voice cut through the harsh winds and right through his bones. Theon didn’t turn to look at her, just kept his gaze out onto the horizon and allowed her to roll up her own breeches and enter the sea to stand beside him. 

“Not went that mad yet.” 

A short snicker came from her side, and a crack of a smile from his. It had been the first sort-of smartass comment he had made in months? Years? The first she had heard since before anyway. She didn’t comment on the short joke he had made, not wanting to damper on the mood just yet.

“What are you doing out here anyway?”

“Watching the sun going down… It’s so beautiful. The way it just fades down into the sea almost? I like the colours as well… I haven’t seen colours in such a long time. Not like that.” His eyes were focused on the way the orange fades into the waves below it, the corners of his lips turning upwards. The orange was deep, fading darker the closer it got to the sea. It reminded him of the orange that was through Sansa’s hair. Some of it was deep copper, other parts were lighter. Like the parts he managed to touch with his gloved hand when they embraced... 

“You almost were. Perhaps even more mad than he is.” Her voice was quieter, softer. She sounded almost scared to bring it up. Theon’s eyes turned to her, confusion written all over his face. 

“What are you on about?” 

“Uncle Aeron. You were just about as mad as him… maybe even more. When you were with that bastard.” She spat the word ‘bastard’ through her teeth, nose scrunched up in disgust. Theon just closed his eyes, a deep intake of breath that he could hear even over the whistling wind and crashing waves that lapped their feet.

“Yara please.” 

“We have to talk about it at some point, Theon. You scared me! You were acting like-” 

“Like what?” Eyes snap towards her, sea coloured irises burning into hers, jaw clenched. The air between them was thick with tension, waiting for her to say the word. It seemed like the wind and the waves had even calmed, waiting for her to comment. 

“An animal. You acted like a fucking animal, Theon. It was terrifying. I’ve seen scary things in my life, little brother, but nothing like that. It reminded me of her.” 

Her. Theon knew their mother had to come up in conversation at some point. He had avoided any conversations that Yara could bring the older woman into, not quite ready to go into detail of his sickly mother. 

“You’re being dramatic.” He shakes his head, the denial seeping through his skin and through his teeth with every word. Every time she had tried to bring it up, he had pushed it off or changed the topic, sometimes even left the room. He was not ready to speak of his mother, but not ready to speak about his own madness either. 

“You bit me. Do you remember that? Bit me like some sort of rabid dog! You acted exactly like the bastard’s dogs in the kennels were acting! Barking and trying to bite their way free, that’s exactly what you did!” She had turned, her hands gripping onto his arms as she tugged him in closer to her. He stood taller than she did, but the power was completely on her side. He didn’t feel tall at all. “I was terrified for you. Of you. You weren’t here when she was shouting and throwing things around. At father, at the maester that tried to help her. You know father doesn’t like maesters, but he tried everything to get her to calm down and she wouldn’t. One mention of Maron and Rodrik being dead, or Starks, and that was it. She acted like an animal. And so did you.”

“That’s not me… Not anymore. I promise. Swear on the Drowned Gods and on our mother’s life. I’m free from Ramsay and he can’t hurt me anymore. Can’t make me into his pet.” He makes a cross over his heart, kissing his fingers that, of course, had leather gloves to cover their mangled state. She hadn’t seen what was underneath the leather yet, never daring to ask him. Yara copied him, the two of them pressing their kissed fingers together in a sealed promise. They had done it when they were children, keeping their secrets between them and never allowing Maron and Rodrik to know. Their secrets and promises were theirs. Once the lips touched their fingers and their fingers pressed together, that was it. 

“Only cause your wee lady lover got you out of that state.” 

Theon should have known that Yara was itching to comment on Sansa, or as she called her his “lady lover”. The mention had broken the tension between them and killed the dark conversation that they were having, and he was thankful for that, but not for the teasing. Never the teasing.

A groan came from the younger Greyjoy, eyes rolling as he disconnects their fingers and starts pushing his way through the heavy waves, making it back onto the damp sand covered in a mixture of sharp and smooth rocks. Yara followed closely behind, the two balancing as they skipped from rock to rock and back up towards the small patches of grass on the hill.

“No answer this time, lover boy? Not going to deny the obvious?” She continues to taunt all the way up the beach, her loud bellowing laughter following behind and almost echoing across the island. 

“I’m not listening!” He calls behind, jumping off the rocks and onto where the grass was growing through, bending down while walking to grab his boots where he had left them. 

“Oh Lady Sansa! Give me a big kiss! Oh how I love you, Lady Sansa!” Yara shouts, making kissing noises as she runs behind him, scooping her own boots up as she tries to catch up. “Oi! Wait for me!” 

“That’s the old age catching up.”

Their laughter, or more so hers, echoed behind them as they raced towards the top of the hill where they had left their horses tied up. Theon was sure that Yara had even slowed down so that his broken body could beat her to the top, but she never admitted to it, pretending to have a stitch instead. 

They were sitting at the table, dinner placed in front of them by the kitchen maids. There was a deafening silence that cut through the air, leaving it awkward. No one dared to speak. Balon was sat at the head of the table, Theon on one side of him and Yara sat across from Theon. The two were making conversation through their eyes across the table, eyes flickering towards a scowling Balon from where he sat and then back at each other, Yara swallowing down the laughter that wanted to come out with a gulp of ale. 

“Sansa Stark sent you a raven earlier today. Asking for your… help.” Balon cut the silence, chewing on a piece of fish that he had just put into his mouth. Theon had to bite back the comment that wanted to force its way through, the sound of Lady Catelyn’s voice telling them to always finish their food before speaking echoing throughout his mind. She had always scolded him for that. Now he always made sure to chew with his mouth closed, and wait to finish before speaking. Out of respect for Lady Catelyn. 

“If it was addressed to me, why did you open and read it?” Yara asked, eyebrows raised and lips pursed outwards. She straightened her back, grip tightening around her fork and knife. Theon had noticed this, giving a clear of his throat to tell her to loosen it. She did, placing them down onto her plate and resting her hands into her lap. 

“I’m the King and you are my daughter. It had that god forsaken direwolf stamped into the wax and I’ll be damned if a Stark is sending letters to my daughter.” His knife was pointed towards Yara, giving her a short glare. She swallowed down the comment she wanted to make, just holding out her hand as Balon placed the already opened letter into it. 

No one spoke as she unrolled and read. Theon was still chewing on a piece of fish that he had popped into his mouth before the conversation started. He had no appetite. The byle in his throat raised at just the smell of the fish that was laid out on his plate. He had always been taught to never waste his food. His mother always ranted on about other children that were starving all over the Iron Islands and how they had to be grateful for what they had, but his stomach turned every time he swallowed another piece, not ready to accept so much food after going so long with barely anything. 

“They’re fighting against Bolton. Ask for our help for numbers and strength against him.” The letter was rolled up again, rested onto the table. Yara had seemed to lose her appetite as well, which was a first. But the storm in her eyes grew wild, the curve of her lip in a smirk forming. The mention of a battle always made her like this, Theon had noticed. 

“And we will not.” 

She was not surprised at the refusal that Balon put out. Of course he would not be willing to fight for the Starks, or for his own son. It did not stop the scoff that came from Yara, eyes sparkling with amusement as she sent her gaze towards her father at the head of the table, bringing her napkin up as she wiped her mouth, throwing the rolled up material down onto the table as she shoved her chair back, sending a loud squeak throughout the hall. 

“The red wolf never asked for you, Father. She asked for me.” 

Balon seemed shocked by his daughters bite back at him, pointing out the obvious. Sansa had asked for Yara, not Balon. This seemed to inflate his only daughters ego even more, her legs carrying her towards the doors out of the hall, stopping just before she left. 

“And I don’t expect you to fight, Father. I’ll ask others to fight with me. How can we ask you to fight for a son you never cared for? Or fight at all? You never fought in your own rebellion.” She sent a smirk over her shoulder towards the white haired man sat at the table, all the food forgotten about as she strode her way out and towards the Bloody Keep where her chambers were located. 

A new haircut always had Theon feeling fresh. As he stood by the same rocks that he and Yara had been skipping and jumping across earlier in the week, he could not stop bringing his gloved hands up and running the seven fingers that he did have left through his now short curls. Gone was the long, almost white knots and matted hair, cut away by Yara’s careful hands earlier in the day. It had taken him some time to not flinch away at the sight of the dagger that she held in his grasp, but if he trusted anyone with one so close to his skin, cutting around his ears and around his face for a clean and smooth face, it was Yara. 

Men from all over the islands were spread out in front of them, chatter of curiosity going on between them. No word had been breathed about why they were demanded to meet on the beaches of Pyke at once, and they were all itching to find out. 

They all stood in a line in front of the men. Balon, Yara, Theon, Aeron and Victarion all lined up in a fashion that Balon had demanded them do. Theon was quick to take place between Yara and Aeron, wanting far away from his father, but also from his vicious uncle as well. He’d rather stand with the mad one. At least Aeron was kind to him. Yara was the one who stepped forward, intending to speak to her men. 

“I know you are all wondering why I called you here, and I’m glad to tell you that the news involves sailing on ships to the mainland, and causing a lot of havoc.” The cheers rang through Theon’s ears, narrowing his eyes to see through the glaring sun that was above them. Yara quickly shut it up with a flick of her hand, face growing serious. “This is not a reaving and raping situation. This is a chance for alliance, for possible trade in the future. And for vengeance.” 

Her hands clasped in front of her, hair blowing wildly in the wind and spray of water that came from the waves that crashed onto the beach below them. It was like the Drowned God had known that this meeting was happening, that a battle was coming. The Drowned God had pointed the men who to listen to with a spray of the waves, and it pointed to Yara. 

“I received a letter from the Princess of the North, Lady of Winterfell, the Red Wolf.” 

Shouts of disapproval rang out, shaking of heads and outcries of curses being thrown towards the woman that stood before them. They weren’t happy to hear that they’d be forming some sort of an alliance with the North, the Stark’s to be exact. Yara had been expecting the response that they had given to her, waiting for them to finish before she spoke again, voice louder and with more authority to it. Theon was sure he even saw a flash of something in Victarion’s eyes. 

He hoped it was pride, and not where Victarion’s mind normally wandered off to when staring at a woman.

“I know you are angry. I know that the North, that Robert Baratheon, Eddard Stark and their armies brought pain across the islands. I know that more than any of you. I know that they sacked our homes, killed our men. I know it all. I was a girl, but not blind to the war that came along with them, with the rebellion…” Her eyes flickered to where Balon stood, a purse of the lips and a frowning of the eyebrows. Her eyes turned to gaze back at the men, narrowing as she moved over to the side, a little skip as she jumped onto the larger rocks that hung at the cliff’s edge, her axe coming from the belt in her breeches and up into the air. 

“But Sansa Stark is not her father! I am not my father! An enemy still walks across Westeros and breathes, and I cannot continue to allow him to do so. Ramsay Bolton must die, and the Red Wolf asked for my help. For our help!” 

Some nods of agreement came with her speech, murmuring between them before one spoke out. Theon was sure that he was from one of the other islands as he had never seen him before. 

“Why should we help them? They’ve done fuck all for us!” 

Some agreed with him, turning to Yara to look for an answer. Theon could not stop himself from gulping, fear running through his veins. The thought of a battle feared him. The thought of losing people he loved once again, like he had lost Robb, to the hands of Bolton, caused his eyes to water. He could just blame the wind that blew into them, causing a slight sting.

“If you will not fight for them, fight for me. Better yet, fight for the prince that Ramsay Bolton brought harm to! Your Prince!” A hand gestured towards him, the sweat on Theon’s neck growing heavier as all eyes turned onto him. How could Yara ask these men to fight for him? They did not know him, did not respect him. As he stood in front of them, shielding himself and wanting the ground to open and swallow him whole, he could hear the slight snickers that came from the crowd. 

“Fight for that coward? It’s not worth our lives to fight for such a useless cunt.” It was the same man that had spoken before. Clearly he had bigger balls than he could handle, as he instantly cut the laughter as Yara’s stormy gaze snapped towards him, instantly hardening. She steps down from the rock, stepping closer and into the crowd that instantly parted ways for her to be let through. She stops an inch from the man, axe held up as she keeps her gaze fixed onto his. She did not show a single trace of bluffing, of not being able to carry out the threat that followed. 

“I’d mind tongue, Beron. For I am not afraid to cut it out and force it back down your throat if you speak of my brother like that again.” 

Theon was sure that the man had peed himself at this point, almost trembling under the intense stare that Yara was giving to him. A chuckle came from Aeron beside him, a little shake of the head. Theon heard him mutter something, but could not make it out. 

Yara turned again, stepping out of the crowd and back to the front. She spins on her heels, hands held outward. “Who wants to fight like a man? Like a true Ironborn man? And who wants to stay here, and be a coward? Miss out on all the blood, the glory, perhaps even gifts that come with this battle? Will you be with me, and fight? Or stay here, and disappoint your family for not having the cock you all claim to have?” 

No one spoke. There was a silence cast across the crowd. Everyone was too afraid to make the first move forward to fight, or to be a coward like Yara claimed them to be. The sound of steel leaving a belt echoed into Theon’s ears, sparking everyone’s interest on who it was. 

“I will fight with you. You should know I am always with you, dear niece.” 

Rodrik Harlaw, Lord of Ten Towers was first to step forward, the crowd parting to allow the older man through. The other men seemed shocked to see such an old man that preferred to have his nose dug into books than to have blood splattered across his cheeks be the first to step forward. His scythe was at his side, held in his grip. The sound of the metal had come from him, from the scythe that every Harlaw apart from Ser Harras, had possession of owning as a weapon. 

“I will be glad to fight with you on the battlefield uncle, and I’m sure Theon appreciates it.”

After that, other men stepped up, not a single one wanting to go back to their families and tell them how they denied the honour of going into battle and making them proud. Of being truly ironborn. All but one. 

“Father? You will not fight?” Yara turns to him, Balon stood brooding to himself. His eyes were narrowed, jaws clenched as he watched these men declare themselves for death. 

“I will not fight for those filthy mutts that Theon calls a second family. And you are all fools to do so. You will not be fighting for honour, for yourselves, for your families. You will be dying for greenlanders. For Northerners!” The disgust was clear in his voice, and Yara didn’t seem amused by the way he had tried to turn her men against her. 

“These men will be fighting for honour. For themselves and for their families. It is you, Father, that will be disappointing your family. Go on, Father, run with your cock between your legs like you always have. Like you did when Maron and Rodrik died. When you handed your last boy over as hostage and watched your wife scream and beg on the beaches while Dagmer held her from throwing herself in the waves after Theon. I was always sure it was mother who had the cock, and now I am sure.”

She did not stop to watch his reaction, nor wait for a response. Yara loved her father, or as close to love as she could feel for such a soulless and heartless man. She was sure she could love a cup of ale more than she could love the father that gave her life. Theon did not blame his sister for lashing out in anger. She had always been one for negative emotions more than positive, and once upon a time he was the same. 

As Theon turned to follow after, Balon spoke again. Though this time his comments were not directed out to the crowd, but specifically to him. He hit Theon where he knew it would hit hardest.

“Those wolves sucked your mother dry, Theon. Sucked the life right out of her. I watched her waste away until I couldn’t anymore. Couldn’t hear her cries, her calling out your name. If you loved your mother, you would not fight for those wolves.”

Theon turned to make sure to look at the old man right into the eyes, attempting to not show any fear, or any sign of being able to fall and crumble. He wanted to be strong. He had to be strong. 

“No one sucked the life out of her more than you did, Father. That is known.” 

And with that, Theon ventured up the hills and towards where he could see Yara disappearing.


	4. CHAPTER 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has to tell Jon that she loves him before he goes off to battle. She refuses to let him die thinking she hates him like her father. 
> 
> Theon talks of Ramsay and his torturous ways after a bad nightmare. Yara’s a good big sister.
> 
> The battle begins and ends, Ramsay runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING : This chapter contains the talk of Ramsay and his ways with Theon and Sansa. Though the talk of Sansa’s do not go into detail like Theon’s, I still want to put warning. 
> 
> I changed back to my writing style as a mixture of pov as you can tell. I tried it out, and it just didn’t work for me but the fic will continue on! I’m very happy with how soft and fluffy sibling feels this chapter was, of course with the added angst. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy! Kudos & comments are always welcome and appreciated.

The buzz around Castle Black caused a constant ringing in Sansa’s ears, just reminding her of what was happening and where Jon was going. Reminding her that Jon may not come back. That Podrick, Brienne, Ser Davos and Tormund who she had all learned to trust and like, might not come back either. 

She stood on the ramparts, staring down at the men and Brienne below, who were currently preparing themselves for the battle they were about to ride head on into. Her hands were covered in sweat underneath the leather gloves that covered them, her red locks blowing around in the wind that was blowing around them, a small dusting of snow coming with it. 

It was a beautiful day for riding into battle. The perfect weather her father would have called it. It did not bring her any comfort, only fear. She knew Ramsay would not settle for a fight just between Jon and him, not the Ramsay Bolton she knew and lived with for months. Even if Jon wasn’t ready to admit it yet, he was underestimating her, and underestimating the man that he was riding into battle against. 

She hadn’t told him about her meeting with Baelish, nor about her letter that she had sent to the Iron Islands, or the one she received back. She knew it was possibly cruel of her to send Jon into a battle he will not win, but she was just a step in front of him, not behind. She’d wait till she knew there was nothing left to do, and then take Ramsay down. When he believes he has won. 

She brings her hands to her dress, pulling it up as she climbs down the stairs and towards the bottom, where Jon and the others were all preparing. She couldn’t allow him to just leave like this. Not with the tension between them and him still steaming from the news of Theon.

If he was to die, she refused to let their relationship end in a sour way like hers had with her father. She never got to talk to her father, tell him she loved him, that she forgave him, nor that she was sorry for bringing this upon him, even though it was forced by the Queen's hand. 

She would not let Jon go believing she hated him. 

“Jon.”

Her voice called across the sea of people, weaving her way through and towards the front where he stood, horses saddle in his arms. The look on his face was pure confusion, of why she was speaking to him, of why she had chosen now to be the moment to finally leave her room and come speak to him after days of silence.

“I wanted to… tell you that I don’t hate you, that I love you.” She stopped in front of him, clasping her hands in front of her. Her fingers danced together, eyes cast downward and not on him. She supposed he was too shocked to answer at first, as it was quiet after her comment, his arms lifting the saddle and placing it onto his stallions back, before turning to face her again. 

His hands reached out, wrapping around her arms and giving them a gentle squeeze of reassurance, of comfort. It was one that Sansa needed, and that she was sure that he needed as well, which is why she brought her arms up, and around him, tugging him in for an embrace. 

Her face was buried against his chest, eyes threatening to spill the tears that had filled them. She blinked them away, grip tightening on the furs that wrapped around his body, a sniffle coming from her. A warm tear dropped against her cheek, rolling down from her right eye just as a tear came from above, from Jon, and dropped onto her forehead where he rested his head on top of hers. 

“I’m going to win this battle, Sansa. I’m going to destroy that monster. You’ll never have to think of him again in a few days… His name will disappear, and so will he.” It was a soft whisper against the crown of her head, into her hair. Her lips tug upwards in a smile at his words, knowing deep down herself, that she would always remember Ramsay Bolton and the pain and horrors he had inflicted onto her. Onto many others as well. 

“Promise me you’ll return.” It was more of a demand than a question. The offer was not up for debate, nor did she want to hear any excuses. She felt as Jon pulled away slightly, hands coming up to cup both of her cheeks and his eyes meet hers. A smile was on his lips, but his eyes were not full of promise and hope like she had hoped they would be. 

“I cannot promise that I will return, Sansa, but I promise to bring your home back to you.” Pressing his lips to the crown of her head, Jon turns and continues to ready his horse before wrapping his furs around himself tighter, climbing on top of the stallion as the other men from the Night's Watch climbed on theirs and the free folk followed along behind on foot. 

Sansa watched from the side as the gates were opened and they all left, leaving a coldness behind that not even the winter breeze could leave. The tears had frozen against her red cheeks, the tip of her nose red from sniffling so much as she watched the gates closing behind them. 

_ How could she tell Jon that Winterfell wasn’t home without him alongside her in it? _

The cold Northern air hit against the opening to his tent and caused the flaps to open, blowing wildly in the night. Theon was curled up underneath the thin furs that they were able to get their hands on at Pyke, still sending that shiver down his spine and a chill across his still clothed body. Though the furs were not as thick and cosy as they were at Winterfell, they were giving him the slight warmth that the kennels that Ramsay kept him locked in did not. Even though some of Ramsay’s bastard girls would give him that warmth, he was still terrified of their sharp fangs and growls in the night, which sounded so similar to the howls coming from the flap to his tent because of the wind. 

_ Reek…  _

His eyes instantly snapped open, looking around in alert because of the voice. How could Theon ever forget the voice of Ramsay? The way his tongue curled around at the name that he had given to him to wear like a collar, the way his teeth would show in a big cheshire cat grin. Theon could never forget that grin. 

Shifting up on his makeshift bed, he tightens the furs around him, eyes landing on the flaps where the entrance to the tent was. There was no other sounds apart from the wind howling outside, causing the tent flaps to blow wildly once again, showing the darkness that was outside. 

Theon tried to open his mouth, to call out for Yara, for his uncle, anyone. The sweat on the back of his neck rolled down, curls now clung to his forehead. His chest was heaving up and down, and he felt his throat closing up more and more every time he opened his mouth to call out. 

_ My precious Reek… Why did you run away from me?  _

A whimper, his hands coming up to cover his ears to stop himself from hearing his voice. The tears that had filled in his eyes were now rolling down his cheeks and were never stopping, choking on his own words through his closed up throat. 

“G-Go away... You’re not real! You’re not here!”

His body shook as he managed to form the words, sobbing as he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to calm his breathing, finding himself unable to catch that breath that he needed. 

_ Do you love me, Reek? Do you love me?! _

“No!” He shouts through a strangled sob, nearly crying out when he felt a pair of hands on him, the calling of his name in his ear. 

“Theon! Theon, it’s me! Open your eyes!” Yara gripped at his arms, her hands soothing over his hair and over his face to wipe away the tears, the soothing sounds of her shushing in his ear as she pulls him close.

“Breathe, Theon… Breathe, little brother.” 

Theon followed her breathing from what he could feel with his head against her chest, hands clenching and unclenching at his ears until he is finally able to pull them away and look up at the older girl. His hands reach out, grasping the material of the shift that she was wearing, eyes running all across her face to make sure it was really her, that it wasn’t another one of Ramsay’s tricks. 

“I’m here now.” She whispers to him, bringing his thin furs up and around both of their bodies like a cloak, her head leaning against the top of his as she slightly rocks them both from side to side, Theon still clinging to the material of her shift like a lifeline. “What did he do to you, little brother?” She whispers into his damp curls, not seeming to be bothered by the sweat that was sticking to his skin and now getting onto her. 

Whimpering in her arms, Theon tucks himself in further, his hands slowly loosening their grip on her shift once he notices that they were not covered with his gloves, and she had seen. 

She grabs them in hers, eyes widening as she stares at the reddened skin, at the stumps of where his missing three fingers should be. Her fingers gently graze the skin, the silence deafening as she seemed to look at every single thing wrong with his hands. Theon had been a fool to not remember that he had taken his gloves off when getting into the makeshift bed, but he had not expected anyone to come into his tent to see them, and now Yara had. 

“I- Theon I-” He had never seen Yara so speechless as she was now. She always seemed to have an answer for everything, and usually a smartass one. But now, she holds his mangled hands with care, bringing them up as she presses her lips against his knuckles on both hands before letting his hands down and onto the furs again.

“What else? Of course I already know about… that, but what else?” 

He moves himself away, head resting on the pillow as he crosses his arms and clasps his hands together on the furs. He tries to not let his eyes wander down to look at the raw skin, not wanting to see the ugliness that Ramsay had left behind. 

“He- flayed me… cut away a piece of my skin from my chest, from my thighs, strips from my back. He- cut the Bolton cross all over my body, but the boldest ones are on my shoulders, like some sort of mark. To remind me that I’ll always belong to him. I- I’d go days without eating, and when I would eat, it would be his scraps from whatever meal, and- god I stunk. You smelled me when I first came back? He never let me bathe, never let me change my rags, just so that my name, Reek, would have more meaning. So that no one but him could bare to be around me because I smelled so badly.”

The tears began to roll down his cheeks once more as he spoke, choking on a few of his words. He was glad when Yara stayed quiet and just listened to him, not interrupting him or asking any questions, but when his eyes turn to meet hers, he finds her crying as well, unable to stop the sobs and shakes that were coming from her. Even the tip of her nose was red from sniffling, maybe from the cold wind that was coming inside or maybe for the sadness she was feeling for him. 

“He would beat me, rape me… He’d make me undress in front of him and let him bathe me for his own pleasure of seeing me so uncomfortable and vulnerable… He’d make me… touch him, in ways I did not want to touch him. If I didn’t please him at all times, I’d be beaten, raped or another finger or toe would be flayed and cut off. I was his servent, his pet. He enjoyed seeing me unhappy, seeing others unhappy as well...” His voice trailed off, his mind filled with images of Sansa. She had never been happy, not with Ramsay and not really when they had escaped in the woods either, but he supposed that they were too afraid of being caught to be happy for freedom. 

He wondered if Sansa was happy now? If seeing Jon again had made her happy. He hoped. 

Wrapping her arms around his body, Yara took Theon back into her embrace and held him as tightly as she could without hurting him. She would feel his bones underneath her touch, and she made a mental note that she would build his strength and weight back up if they all survived this battle to come. 

“I’m so sorry he did that to you, little brother. I’m so sorry that I didn’t keep fighting for you when I came, even if it was till my last breath. You’d have escaped a lot sooner if I had just pushed harder and didn’t run away like a fool.” He could hear the anger, the frustration in her voice, but it was not at him, but at herself. And he hated that. 

“You have nothing to be sorry about, I was the one who bit you, remember? Like an animal?” The crack of a smile, a short snort coming from Yara as she shakes her head at the reminder of her comments days ago. She hadn’t known the full picture of what her brother had suffered back then, and perhaps she never would understand. Not fully. 

“If you had gotten me out then, I wouldn’t have been there when Sansa got there and… she wouldn’t have gotten out. She wouldn’t have survived escaping on her own. I’d take thousands of lashes, flaying, beatings, anything… to not see him hurt her like that again.” 

Yara seemed confused, eyebrows knitted together as she turns her gaze to his. “What do you mean by that?”

Shifting his weight, Theon’s answer was hardly even a whisper. He hated to even think of it, never mind have to say it outloud. 

“He made me… watch him. Watch him take her, and not with her permission. I’d rather take all my tortures again than see that… To have Sansa experience that.”

Neither of them spoke, Yara trying to process what he had admitted to her. It went far beyond physical torture, but mentally and emotionally too. She could not imagine what she would do in his position, but if it spared Theon from having to go through it, she would have gladly taken his place. 

They sat for a while, in silence and wrapped in each others embrace. Yara was stroking her fingers through his curls and Theon was off in his own world when he began to drift back into slumber, only opening his eyes again when he felt the shift of his bed with Yara leaving it. 

“Where are you going?” He questioned, his voice a whisper and childlike. He was sat up once more, catching her just as she was reaching the flap to his tent. She looks at him, a look shared between them before Theon pats the spot beside him again. “Please stay? Incase he comes back?” 

Yara didn’t protest against it, instantly moving to the bed again and climbing in beside him. The thin furs covered the both of them as they curled up together like they were children, Yara holding a frightened Theon through the storms at sea or because Maron and Rodrik had beaten him again. She stroked her hand against his hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“I won't leave you, little brother. Never again.”

They sat upon their horses behind the hill, waiting for the sound of the horn that was their signal to move, to ride into the battle. Yara was fidgeting, ready to go and ready to rip the Bolton bastard piece by piece for what he had done to her brother. 

Theon was off to the side on his own horse, one of her most trusted men, Qarl the Maid, promising to stay behind and make sure Theon didn’t do something stupid, like ride into battle, which she had strictly forbidden him from doing. Her uncle, Rodrik, was upon his own mare at her side, his bannermen behind him. 

The ironborn force was filled with banners, the Greyjoy and Harlaw banners were flapping wildly in the wind, the gold and black mixing with silver and black. Yara was at the front, beside her uncle, and she felt pride. Pride to be going into a battle for her family. For once, the ironborn could show that they were not all reavers and rapers, and were good people. Just like the greenlanders.

“What do you suggest we do if you don’t make it out?” Rodrik’s voice cut through, spinning his scythe in his hands as he spoke to her. His eyes never strayed from the hill, from where they could hear the cries of the battle going on below. 

She wondered if the bastard had joined the battle, or if he stood to the side and let others fight for him like a coward. She was guessing the latter. 

“I will make it out, dear uncle.” Her voice was confident, flashing him a grin as she too, held onto her weapon with one hand and the reins of her horse with another. She knew that there was the possibility of her not surviving, or her not returning home or not even returning to Theon. She hadn’t given it much thought. If she died, she died. She hoped the Iron Islands had a hell of a party for her. 

“I’m serious, Yara. What do we do about Theon if you die out there on the field? I won't let him go back to Balon. He wouldn’t like it, and neither would you.” 

Rodrik made a point. What did happen with Theon if she died? He was her responsibility, and she knew he would never return to their father and be happy about it. Balon would possibly just pick on the young one more that he was alone with no Yara to protect him. 

“Let him stay in the North.” 

She had decided. After a good few minutes of thinking over it, over possible options of where Theon could go and who he could end up with, she had made her decision after thinking of their conversation the night before. Yara had teased her younger brother on his obvious love and devotion for the Stark girl before, but she had never realised the deepness of that devotion until he admitted to rather going through his whole abuse again, just to spare her of having to go through hers. 

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not, uncle. Let him stay with Sansa Stark. It’ll be where he is happiest. He has- devotion, for that girl.” She gave him a nod, The decision was final and she knew that Rodrik would keep it if anything did happen to her. If it meant his nephews happiness, Rodrik Harlaw was the one to deliver. He was a family man, much like every Harlaw. 

The sound of the horn blared through the winds, cutting the conversation and excitement that was going on between the ironborn. Yara turned her horse, facing them head on as she raised her axe into the air. 

“What is dead may never die!” 

They cheered it all back at her, before they all kicked their horses forward, cries growing louder as they grew closer and closer to the battle below. 

The sight of the two separate armies coming across the hills was enough to make Ramsay Bolton turn blue from fear. He could spot Yara Greyjoy, right in the front as she was the first to hit into the wall his own army had created around the Northerns. The ironborn and the Knights of the Vale were strong, both together and individually. It did not take long for them to take down his army.

It didn’t take Ramsay long to have his eyes settle on Sansa, stood at one side of the field beside an older man. She stared right back at him, with a smugness that caused his blood to boil. But it was the person sat on his horse on the other side of the battlefield, his Reek, watching the scene below with wonder mixed with fear. But Theon’s eyes met Ramsay’s, and he did not smile, not even a smug one like Sansa. He just stared. 

And with that, Ramsay turned and ran. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m very excited to fully get into this fic and have all the characters together and all the action and romance slowly blossom. 
> 
> Leave your thoughts!


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